


A Good Alternative

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (to varying degrees), Demon Dean, Discussed Future Minor Character Death, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Character Death, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck Crowley.  Fuck all the other demons too.  Dean’d gladly kill them all to keep Sam at his side.  And hey, there’s an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Alternative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashtraythief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtraythief/gifts), [alycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alycat/gifts), [kinkajou (kjanddean)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/gifts).



After all the bullshit he and Sam have gone through, it’s really only surprising that Dean didn’t snap earlier.  The world had its fun screwing him over for decades.  And not just screwing with _him_ , but screwing with Sam too, which is about a million times worse.  Dean isn’t exactly known for his patience, either, so when he wakes up feeling distinctly different after being killed by Metatron _—_ seriously, of all the fuckers in the world, he’d been killed by _Metatron_ —he gives himself a mental pat on the back for making it so long without snapping.

The First Blade is singing in his hand, thankfully drowning out whatever Crowley is going on about above him.  Dean takes a second to adjust to the way he feels now, both lighter and yet stronger at once.  He remembers feeling a bit like this towards the end of his time in hell, when he started liking the torture more and feeling the guilt less.  Now, it’s all gone, nothing left but his wants and his needs, no shard of self-loathing or doubt left for him to cut himself on.  He lays there, feeling pretty good about the fact that thinking is no longer equivalent to burning himself with hot pokers, and then Crowley says something about howling at the moon.

He can’t quite remember why he put up with this sort of jabbering before.  Especially when there’s nothing useful in it.  Whatever, Crowley wants to carouse around with him and probably suck his dick as well.  The dude’s hard-on for him has become nothing more than an irritation.  It’s probably why Crowley wanted him to get the Mark in the first place too; guy was probably hoping that things would end up like this the whole time, and then that dick sucking would commence.

Yeah, Dean’s gonna have to take a pass.

He doesn’t bother dragging it out, just shoves the First Blade up under Crowley’s ribs and watches through a black-tinted haze as the King of Hell chokes out one surprised, bloody gurgle before he dies.  Dean admires the sound of the Blade as he pulls it out of Crowley’s dead flesh, probably the most appealing noise he’s ever heard from a body of Crowley’s.  “Not bad,” he tells the corpse.  “Not as good as _Blade Runner_ as far as last lines go, but not bad.”

Dead, and therefore non-gankable, Crowley is of even less interest than he was alive.  Dean steps over the body and heads towards the bathroom to inspect himself in the mirror.  Sam apparently didn’t change his clothes, which are still soaked in his own blood.  Now he’s got Crowley’s flaked all over too.  He preens a bit, ‘cause he’s coming to realize that bloody is a good look on him.  Good thing too; killing feels even better now than it did before, and he plans on doing his fair share of it.

He’s also rocking the black eyes, he’s proud to say.  He’s glad he’s got the standard black ones; yellow would have pissed him off, and probably would have made it more difficult to deal with Sammy.  He’s got a feeling Sam’s gonna be enough a pain about this without his brother being constantly reminded of Yellow Eyes.

Dean’s pretty sure that him wanting to keep Sam around is strange for a demon, but, pissy little bitch or not, he loves his brother.  All the other demons can go fuck themselves, honestly.  He’d gladly kill them all to keep Sam at his side.  And hey, there’s an idea.

Humming happily to himself, he flips the Blade over in his hand as he strolls out of his room and heads down towards the dungeon area of the bunker.  He’s pretty sure Crowley’d said something in his monologue about Sam trying to summon him to sell his soul.  Stupid move, really; historically, not many demons (see: zero) have been willing to make a trade of Sam for Dean.  If Sam was thinking straight, he’d know that.  It’s good to know that his brother can still get that worked up about him, though; it bodes well for the future.

Dean’s plan takes shape pretty quickly, so by the time he gets down to where Sam is kneeling in front of the Devil’s Trap, he’s got a pretty good idea of what he wants.  Sam doesn’t even have time to scramble to his feet before Dean is knocking him out with a swift, efficient punch to his head.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean addresses Sam’s unconscious body.  “I’m back!”

 

*

 

Dean enjoys tying Sam up.  It’s not something he would have admitted to liking before, but now that he’s got the benefit of demonicness, he’s leaving denial and repression behind.  Sam’s got a hot body, all hard muscle and sharp angles.  With his arms tied behind his back, Sam is cured of his habitual slouch and his chest is thrust slightly forward for Dean’s enjoyment.  His spread legs, tied to the legs of the chair, don’t hurt either.

Briefly, Dean contemplates a gag, because God knows (or maybe not God, really) he’s thought about gagging his brother with something or other quite a few times over the years.  Unfortunately, despite how hot it would be, Dean’s pretty sure it would only make his brother freak harder.  So Dean leaves Sam gag-less as he changes into some clean clothes and drags Crowley’s body outside to burn later.  Maybe him and Sam can have a bonfire after he does the whole demon reveal.

Sam takes an annoyingly long time to wake up, but Dean manages to keep himself busy while he waits.  Their dungeon’s been pretty neglected, really, and if Dean has his way (and he will), that’ll change soon.  Drag some demons down there—some angels too—and they could have quite the party, Dean and his torture tools and his Blade.

It’s kinda unfortunate that Sam wakes up while Dean is cleaning a rusted brand.  Luckily, Sam’s confusion and disorientation last long enough for Dean to toss the brand behind him before Sam can see it.  Sam instinctively struggles against his bonds, but his face lights up when he sees Dean.  “Dean!” he rasps out, voice hoarse for the crying he was presumably doing over Dean’s dead body.  “You’re—you’re back.  It worked.”

Dean drags his chair up to sit right across from Sam and leans forward, elbows on his knees.  “Well.  Not quite, Sammy.”  He doesn’t feel like talking around it, so he just flashes his eyes.  When Sam recoils, he smiles reassuringly.  “Turns out the Mark has side-effects.  But don’t worry about it.  I’m feeling great.”

“No,” Sam whispers, and begins tugging against the ropes with greater urgency.  It just makes them tighter, though; Dean knows what he’s doing.  He watches with interest as they begin to bite into Sam’s skin.  “No, this can’t be—this is all wrong.  Dean, we’re gonna fix this, okay?  We’re gonna fix you.  I just need to—”

Dean’s bored already.  Yeah, he loves his brother, but he’s starting to think he should have gone with the gag.  Apparently Sam’s going to need time to adjust, which is irritating.  “No one’s fixing anything,” he tells Sam bluntly.  “I like the way I am now.  All the same urges, you know, just none of the guilt.”  He tries smiling again; Sam normally likes it when he smiles.  “Killing’s a lot better too.”

The smile is a miscalculation.  Sam turns a mildly concerning shade of white.  “Are you going to kill me?” he asks, unsteady.  He’s stopped struggling, although his chest is still heaving up and down with panicked breaths.

The lack of a struggle, though, makes Dean think his brother’s sick little death wish is rearing its ugly head again.  He rolls his eyes and lets them shift back to green.  “No, Sam, I’m not going to kill you.  You’re my brother.”  Which is true, despite all the shit Sam has been spewing lately.  Sam stills looks confused about the Way of Things, so Dean decides to elaborate.  “Look, I know you think curing me is the way things gotta go.  But, once upon a time, you didn’t mind staying with a demon so much.”

Sam jerks his head up to stare at Dean like Dean’s about to run a hot poker through his cuts.  “You’re going to make me drink your blood?”  He jerks against the ropes with a viciousness that wasn’t present before.  “I won’t let you.  I swear to god, I’ll kill myself first.”

Another check in the “death wish” column.  “No, Sam,” Dean says patiently.  “I’m not going to make you do anything.  I mean, I can’t let you cure me, so you’re gonna stay tied up here until you can accept that, but other than that, everything’s up to you.”  Realistically, Dean’s going to be pretty pissed off if Sam doesn’t go along with some of his plans eventually, but Sam’s a big proponent of choices, even stupid ones with an obvious answer.  Starting with a list of commands wouldn’t be the way to go.  Besides, it will be so much sweeter when Sam agrees thinking it’s his _choice_.

Dean gets up and meanders slowly around Sam’s chair, relishing the way Sam strains in an effort to keep in sight.  “Look, all you need to worry about right now is accepting the new me.  Once you’ve done that, then we can talk about taking over heaven and hell.”  He pauses.  “Although, I guess I got a headstart on the latter.  Killed Crowley as soon as I woke up.  He was in my room.  Any idea how he got in, by the way?”

“You killed Crowley?!”  Sam is frozen once more and Dean takes the opportunity to feel up his shoulder, all the blood and muscle working away under his skin.  Sam’s pulse rabbits under his fingers.  “But, he’s a demon.”

Dean shrugs, moving back into Sam’s line of sight and crouching down in front of him.  “Yeah, so what?”

Sam is staring at him like he’s an alien.  “He’s—he was—one of your kind.  I thought—”

“ _I thought_ you’d be pleased,” Dean retorts, leaning in between Sam’s legs.  Sam smells even better than he had before, sharper and tangier, his fear coloring everything.  “Killing demons, hunting things… that’s our business.  And I’m better at it than I’ve ever been before.  You and me… we could do anything.”  Reaching up, he holds Sam’s face between his hands, forcing Sam to stare into his eyes as they fade back to black.  “I could slaughter all of hell for you, Sammy, and I’d love it.”

Sam’s breathing too fast, his body shaking to pieces under Dean’s hands.  “I can’t—Dean, I can’t—”

“Shhh, it’s okay, Sammy.”  Dean strokes down his cheek and then pats him on the chest.  “No pressure, no rush.  I just want you to get used to this right now.  Like I said, we can figure the rest out later.”

“Dean,” Sam wheezes out, “you’re a _demon_.”  The amount of weight he puts on that word seems disproportionate to Dean.  It’s not like demons are all of one sort.  They’ve gotten along with some before.  There’d been that Casey chick that Dean had been okay with for the five seconds before she’d been killed.  Sam had liked Ruby, until she turned out to be a treacherous bitch.  They’d both sort of grown to like Meg by the time she died.  They’d definitely put up with Crowley for long enough.  And Cain had been an asshole, but still kind of okay.  Once Sam thinks on it, he’ll realize a demon isn’t the worst thing for Dean to be.

“I’m still your brother,” Dean settles for telling Sam.  Then, because he’s really been holding his instincts in check and there’s no point in pretending he doesn’t want this, he kisses Sam, wet and open.  Sam whimpers against him, but Dean holds him still as he licks into his mouth.  Once he’s satisfied and Sam is squirming as much as he can, given how he’s restrained, Dean lets him go and stands up.  “Just think about it, Sam,” he says, and knows his brother is smart enough to realize he means both the demon thing and the incest.

Then he leaves to go make dinner in the kitchen.  Who knows how long it’s been since Sam has eaten, and he wants his brother in the best of shape for when things finally get settled.

 

*

 

Dean splits his time between brutally massacring the Crowley loyalists that come looking for him and tending to Sam.  He doesn’t hide what he’s doing from Sam when he’s gone, because hiding things never works out well with them.  He spends most of the first week reassuring Sam that he’s not murdering any humans.  At some point, Sam’s going to have to get over that, because there’s definitely more than a few humans that deserve the Blade in their gut.  But for now, Dean can play nice demon and stick to skewering others of his kind.

He plays smart with Sam because everyone has always chronically underestimated his brother, and look where it’s gotten them.  He’s not going to lose everything because he wasn’t paying enough attention to his brother.

That said, it’s a delicate balance.  He unties Sam from the chair after the first day, because it’s not good for human bodies to stay stuck in one position for that long, and only puts Sam back in the chair when he has to leave the bunker.  The rest of the time, Dean just keeps a close eye on him, and makes sure all weapons are out of reach.  This causes a bit of difficulty, because water can be a danger to Dean, if turned into holy water.  So he only gives Sam juice and alcohol to drink, and watches closely when Sam goes to the bathroom and showers.  Sam bitches, especially about the showers, but Dean knows he’ll get over it, with time.

All his precautions don’t stop Sam from attacking him once or twice (well, quite a few times, actually), but as long as Sam is sans-powers and soul-filled, Dean has always been the better hand-to-hand fighter.  He’s even better now as a demon with the Mark.  It’s fairly easy to subdue a weaponless Sam.

At night, he handcuffs Sam to the headboard of his bed and then curls up behind him.  Demons don’t sleep, but he doesn’t mind the time pressed up against Sammy.  It’s hard— _very_ hard—not to touch more than Sam is okay with, but Dean is pretty invested in his plan.  He can wait.

It’s during one of their sadly platonic cuddle sessions that Sam first shows any sign of bending.  Forcibly curled up in Dean’s arms, he’s so still that Dean almost jumps when he speaks.  “Why do you wanna take over hell?”  His words are so soft that they almost disappear in the dark.

Sensing that this a conversation better done face-to-face, Dean carefully rolls Sam over until their noses are inches from each other.  “Most other demons are irritating as fuck,” he says bluntly.  “And they’re stronger, so they’re more fun to kill than humans.  I figure, you’ve got all those special demonic powers and I’ve got this Mark.  Might as well take over the place.”  He shrugs and grins wide, even though it usually makes Sam shudder.  This time, though, Sam doesn’t seem alarmed.  “I also figured you wouldn’t want to just completely demolish the place.  So, taking over seemed like a good alternative.”

Sam furrows his brow.  “Why wouldn’t I want to kill them all?”

“I’m assuming you want _someplace_ for the evil humans to go to.”  Dean _has_ thought this out.  “There’s gotta be some kind of hell and some kind of demons, yeah?  But we could decide what those are.”

Sam props himself up with his chained arm, still frowning at Dean.  “What about heaven?  You mentioned heaven too.”

Dean shifts even closer to Sam, tangling their legs together.  Pleasingly, Sam stays still.  “Angels are even harder to kill.  Even more fun.  And heaven’s fucked too.  You could fix that.”  He nudges Sam’s jaw with his nose, an affection—if maybe not _totally_ platonic—bump.  “Besides.  There’re a lot of angels who have done us wrong.”

The last bit is what makes Sam stiffen and pull back.  “There are a lot of angels that haven’t.  Cas—”

“Let _hell_ back into your brain and has fucked us over _how_ many times?”  Dean doesn’t bother trying to play nice; he bares his teeth in a snarl.  “I’d rip him apart just for the first.”

“ _Dean_!”

Sam’s panicked, too panicked.  Dean sighs and pulls him close into a firm hug, even as Sam struggles against him.  “We can negotiate,” he relents grudgingly.  “Besides, hell is first on the list.  We’re gonna need some kind of army to invade heaven.”  He _feels_ like he could tear apart the entire angelic host with his bare hands, but it’s probably good to have some cannon fodder.  “The point is, I want us to be together on this.  If you _really_ don’t want me to kill Cas, I can try to avoid it.”  He’s pretty sure it’s inevitable, but he would try not to for a while.  For Sam.

Sam’s hands come up to his chest, trying to push them apart.  But Dean’s way stronger and he likes the feel of Sam struggling in his arms.  He’s not gonna let go until he’s ready to.  Unexpectedly, Sam sags into inaction.  “I don’t believe you,” he mutters in a petulant tone Dean remembers from his teenage years.  “You’re a demon.  You lie.”

“Mmmm,” Dean hums in disagreement.  “Only seventy-five percent right.”  He trails his hands down to palm Sam’s ass, because he wants to.  His brother’s got the best ass, all tight and firm.  Dean wants to bite it, but he settles for squeezing until Sam gasps.  “I _am_ a demon.  I _do_ lie.”  He leans in and kisses Sam slowly, as sweetly as he’s capable.  “Just not to you.”

His dick’s hard under his boxer-briefs.  He rocks it slowly against Sam as he continues.  “I could have lied to you,” he admits.  “I could have pretended to be human, pretended something miraculous had happened until you caught me out.”  Sam’s shaking a little bit now, with some combination of fear and arousal.  He can feel Sam’s cock against his thigh where it’s chubbing up.  Dean relishes that, but he’s not going to go any further unless Sam asks.  “I could have tricked you into everything.  I could’ve put demon blood in your food until you were addicted again.  Could’a done all sorts of things.”  As gently as he’s capable of, he releases Sam and pushes him back.  “But I didn’t.  I’ve told you nothing but the truth.  And I’ll tell you one more thing.”  He lets his eyes turn black.  “You _want_ it.”

Like he’s about to deny it, Sam sucks in a quick breath.  But something stops him, and they just lay there, staring at each other.  Dean’s still hard and so’s Sam, and when he said Sam wanted it, he didn’t just mean the ruling over hell part.  He’s not the only one that’s been repressing incestuous desire for years, and he knows it.

Sam’s not just talking about the hell part when he replies, “it’s _wrong_ ” either.

“ _Fuck_ wrong,” Dean growls viciously.  “And fuck right too.  I don’t care about anything of that shit anymore.  And neither should you.  Where the fuck has it gotten either of us?”

“Well, you _would_ say that.  You’re a _demon_ ,” Sam huffs out, and Dean’s actually a little bit pleased by it, because that sounds just like his bitchy little brother, no fear in it or anything.  “You don’t care about anything.”

In contrast, that annoys him enough that he rolls over onto Sam, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look down at Sam’s face.  “I don’t care about _most_ things,” he corrects.  “Other humans, whatever.  And yeah, angels and demons and monsters are basically just moving targets to me.  But I still care about _you_.”  He grins down at Sam, because he can feel just how much Sam still _cares_ for him too.  “You should feel pretty special, actually.”

Sam just stares back up, clearly conflicted.  “I don’t want to—”  He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath.  “I want to cure you.  You’re—okay, you’re still Dean, but you’re also not.  I want all of my brother back.”

“All of me wouldn’t do _this_ ,” Dean rolls his hips down, making Sam gasp.  “All I’m missing, Sammy, is the little part of me that makes me feel like shit for doing anything I want to do.  And I am _so_ much better about it.”  He spreads his elbows a little wider, bringing his face a little closer to Sam.  “All I’m missing is the part of me that hurt me for wanting this, wanting you.  ‘Cause I did want you.  All the fucking time.  All the way back to when you were fifteen and mouthing off.  Just wanted to shove you down, make you suck my dick, shut you up with it.”  He groans a little with the memory of the fantasy.  “Jerked myself off so much to it.  I felt like the worst kind of brother, the worst kind of human.”  He grinds against Sam harder and Sam moans in turn.  “Don’t feel like that anymore.”

Dean’s demon-enhanced vision lets him see the flush high on Sam’s cheeks even in the darkness.  “Even if you did want,” Sam manages to get out, and then his hips buck up involuntarily, fucking his cock against Dean’s thigh through his PJ bottoms.  His hands come up to clutch at Dean’s arms, squeezing the muscles of his biceps.  “It’s still—you would want—”

“I want you to rub that beautiful cock of yours against me ’til you come,” Dean whispers directly in Sam’s ear, and then grins when Sam goes a bit crazy, writhing under him, so turned on he can’t help it.  “And then I wanna jerk off on your chest, see my come all over you.  Make you leave it on, sleep in it, so I can smell it on you.”

“I can’t—!” Sam protests, even as he’s holding Dean harder, bucking up against his body with every breath.  His voice is the kind of husky that makes Dean wanna fuck his mouth even more than usual and his neck is glimmering with a light sweat that Dean’s sure would be all over if Sam took his shirt off.

“You can,” Dean responds, pushing back against every thrust, letting his body do most of the talking.  “Just say yes, Sammy.  C’mon, just say it.”

Sam shakes his head even harder, even as he hitches one leg up over Dean’s hip.  “I can’t—can’t say it.”

That’s disappointing, but Dean can roll with it.  “That’s okay then, that’s okay, Sammy.  You just rub off against me like I know you want to.  Don’t have to say anything.”  Given permission, Sam’s hands grab at him indiscriminately, feeling him up like Sam thinks this’ll never happen again.  Dean will have time to persuade him otherwise.  Doesn’t hurt to start early either.  “Don’t have to say it right now, but when you do, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Sammy.  Wanna get in that tight little ass.  Wanna feel you around me.”

The more he talks, the more Sam pulls him closer.  Dean’s brother is a wanton mess by now, hair mussed, clothing rumpled, body rippling under Dean in sinuous, sensual, desperate rolls, demanding its release.  Dean takes pity on him.  He reaches one hand down between them, grabs Sam’s cock, and squeezes.  Sam’s back arches high and Sam lets out a short, cut-off cry as he comes in his PJs, Dean holding his dick through it.

As soon as Sam collapses back down on the bed, Dean shoves his boxer-briefs down and grips his own cock, striping it hard.  This is the first step.  Soon enough, he’ll have Sam coming to him without any of the guilt.  Sam naked and greedy for him, letting Dean fuck him and suck him and feel him however he wants.  Soon enough, they’ll be killing side-by-side and fucking afterwards in the blood and the bodies.  Dean _wants_ it and he’s going to _get_ it, for once in his fucking life.  Dean Winchester is going to have his brother exactly how he wants him.

Of course, for the moment, the image of his come all over Sam’s stomach isn’t that bad.  Not bad at _all_.

In the aftermath of Dean’s orgasm, they stare at each other, and Dean can see Sam coming fully back to himself.  “That won’t happen again,” he says, but Dean can see in his eyes that he knows, just like Dean does, that it’s not true.  This is only the start.

Sam firms his jaw, as if he’s read all that off Dean’s face.  Maybe he has.  “I’m still going to cure you.”

Dean’s feeling indulgent, what with the almost-sex and all.  “You can try,” he replies blithely.  “But, baby, I think we both know you won’t.”  There’s nothing but blood and sex and murder in front of them.

Dean can’t wait.


End file.
